Sitting in a Tree
by LadyMoontime
Summary: Though she discovered herself a bit late in life, Hermione has always known that she is gay. While on her way to teach at the African People's Academy of Magic, she bumps into Pansy Parkinson - headed to the same place. Hermione/Pansy, rated M for later chapters.
1. Chapter 1

I solemnly swear that I will complete this story. And that I am up to no good…

Disclaimer: The characters within this story all belong to You-Know-Who (J.K Rowling) and while she will eternally profit from residual rights, I shall for now continue to be a near-broke college student. Please send me as many PM's as you like, and reviews which say more than "that was awesome" (preferred, but please elaborate…), or "that was crap" (in which case you should be able to justify your point of view with specific examples), or "you misspelled 'wand', you moron" (in which case you are a little pedantic, but so am I, and I will happily correct such mistakes to improve my story).

Onwards: This is a love story, about the lead up to a relationship between two consenting (at least in JK's world) adults who eventually will be making hot sweet love… This is where it gets awesome – the main characters are Hermione and Pansy. SO, if you have a problem with lesbians, this is not for you. Leave now, and forever keep your flames to yourself. Also, this is my first lesbian/femmeslash story, so I will welcome feedback. And yes – some of this stuff is just plain made up. That's kind of the point.

* * *

Strange, some called her; even her parents thought so. Hermione had learned to read English at age three, and was currently reading the Odyssey, by Homer, in ancient Greek. It was difficult for a five-year-old who was more intelligent than her preschool teachers to be cooped up in a classroom with other more snot-covered five-year-olds, who at best may be able to appreciate Homer in high school – and in English. Honestly, talk about holding someone back! However, it was part of Hermione's tutor's requirements. "You go to school four days a week for three hours, and I will guide you through anything you want to learn, Hermione," he had said, "anything at all." This is how Hermione found herself in the arts and crafts corner painting and then solving her own equations next to a brown-skinned girl with pigtails. She was painting a flower.

Hermione scrunched up her nose, pulling her forehead into a frown at the same time. This one was particularly difficult.

"Hey, what are you painting?" asked the other girl, peering over at the nonsense written on Hermione's page. "We're supposed to be doing something from nature, not scribbling. Mrs. Gigi said no scribbles." Hermione, still squinting, glanced at her neighbor. She was frustrated at the interruption, but somewhat surprised that this girl had dared to talk to her – the 'weird one'. Nobody wanted to play with her – but then nobody really knew how to play 'behavioral psychologists'. They all just wanted to play 'doctor, doctor'. It was just plain repetitive, really.

She decided to try and be friendly. "Hello, my name is Hermione Granger, aged five and fifty-eight days," she said, extending her hand.

Her hand was firmly grasped by the girl, who didn't seem to know what to do with it once she held it in her own hand, Hermione continued. "And I did paint something from nature. Look, right there in the corner – see that?" she pointed to a speck of brown paint with her free hand. "It's an ant – life size." The girl looked at her blankly, but then brushed off the expression and started talking again.

"I'm Rosa and I'm four – no, five – and my favorite color is pink." Hermione didn't think that her introduction was very original, but she sort of wished that she knew what her own favorite color was. Once she knew how many colors were out there, she just couldn't bring herself to choose one above the others. It wouldn't be fair. She realized that Rosa still had her hand captive, and mentioned this fact to Rosa.

"Oh, I know that," said Rosa, squeezing tightly. "I don't really want to let go, now that you're my friend. If I let go then you'll go play with somebody else, and then I'll have to play all by myself again." This candid confession surprised Hermione, and she squeezed back involuntarily. Apparently she was not the only one who other kids did not want to play with. She looked over at the girl, assessing her dark brown eyes and the pleading look on her round, chocolate-colored face. She could put up with this.

Besides, she kind of liked the soft, warm feeling of Rosa's hand anyway.

* * *

Hermione slammed the door in a fit of rage and let the satisfying _thud _be the punctuation mark at the end of her sentence. She threw herself down on her bed and buried her face in her pillow, and started to cry uncontrollably. She had been home from Hogwarts for three hours, none of which had been enjoyable. Her parents had asked her to give herself a break from study during the holidays, which kind of limited the things she could do to… about zero. Their current preoccupation with her social life didn't help much.

"Why don't you invite Rosa over for a sleep-over, darling?" her mother had suggested, unknowingly bringing up feelings of anger and remorse within her daughter. Hermione had quickly scrambled to say that she didn't really feel like it tonight, but her mother had been persistent, stating the fact that Hermione hadn't seen her closest friend in months. "She's surely missing you, my love," her mother said reassuringly. That was, in fact, the precise problem that Hermione was having with Rosa at this point in time, and her poor mother probably had no idea what she had said to make the conversation go pear-shaped.

About a week before she was due to start Hogwarts, Hermione had tried to tell her friend that she wasn't going to be able to start at Cromwell Girls High with her, as planned. Rosa was furious, and had demanded to know why. Was it something she had said or did? Or was Hermione just that much better than her that she got to go to a 'special' school for the 'gifted'.

When Hermione had been forced to say that yes, it was something like that, Rosa had blown her top – talking about years of wasted friendship and how Hermione wasn't loyal and didn't care about her at all. Hermione flinched at the memory of that painful day, as she curled herself up around her knees, sobbing quietly now. Being completely unable to explain herself due to the statute of secrecy, Hermione left Rosa's house in much the same state she was in now, and went to Hogwarts with absolutely nobody except her parents to write to.

Hermione had thrown herself into her studies and kind of avoided making friends with anyone, which wasn't very difficult seeing as nobody seemed to want to talk with her anyway. Then there had been that incident with the troll, and she had suddenly seen the benefit of having friends in the magical world. After all, if trolls and three-headed-dogs could get into the school which was supposed to be the safest place in the country besides Gringotts, she was going to need some bodyguards. Ron was not an ideal friend. Actually, he was a moron – but along with him came Harry Potter, who attracted as much danger as he repelled. They would have to do, especially seeing as nobody else had applied for the position. Actually, they kind of grew on you once you got to know them – kind of the way mold grows on any really good quality cheese…

She was hungry now, actually, having stormed rather dramatically out of the kitchen just before supper was put on the table. And she had been napping earlier when the trolley came by on the train. Being the prideful person that she was, she obviously wouldn't go down until long after her parents had gone to sleep. So, finding a novel she had been dying to read, Hermione settled down for a long wait. She found some emergency jelly-beans in her bedside drawer (a gift from Rosa) and decided to munch on them in the meantime. The book was really very good, and it was midnight before her eyes started to droop. She never did get that midnight snack…

_Hermione was at Hogwarts again with Ron and Harry, at the rowdy Gryffindor table eating breakfast. It was almost time to go to class, and people were rising to leave. Suddenly there was a disturbance at the entrance doors, and in stormed Rosa: tear-streaked, and pointing a shaky hand at Hermione. "You didn't tell me!" she accused angrily. Gasping at the enraged face of her friend, Hermione was totally at a loss for words – she truly felt bad about not being able to tell Rosa. Hermione stood and walked around the table so that she was standing opposite Rosa. "I'm so sorry, Rosa," she shakily said. "You wouldn't have understood! I really wanted to tell you." Rosa advanced on Hermione until she was close enough to strike her across the face backhanded. _

_Hermione gasped, and her hand flew to the red mark on her face. Wet, salty tears formed in her eyes, and she rubbed at her face to get rid of them. "Six years of friendship, Hermione, and that was the best explanation you could offer me?" Rosa's chest was slowly rising and falling, and she was looking up at the ceiling as she calmly said her next words. "I thought… I thought we might even… be more." Hermione did not understand. Rosa looked her right in the eyes, her smooth lips slightly parted as she stepped forward slowly. Hermione uncertainly met her gaze evenly, hoping not to be slapped again but knowing that she would fully deserve it. _

_Instead, Rosa moved so that she was in Hermione's airspace, and carefully leaned forward until one pair of uncertain lips met another. Although startled, Hermione did not resist the kiss. For the most part, it was not an unpleasant sensation… Rosa's lips were salty from tears, yet soft and warm and sweet all at the same time. Then Rosa moved closer and scooped one arm around Hermione's waist, which pressed their bodies together. Hermione gasped at the additional contact, and Rosa took advantage of her open mouth, biting down on her bottom lip._

The pain in her lip woke Hermione up quite suddenly, and she discovered that she was actually bleeding. The salty metallic taste put her on edge, and she grabbed a facial tissue from her bedside table. While dabbing at the cut, she pondered at the strange dream. She actually felt a little bit like she had just run a marathon. The sun was just starting to rise, and she decided to go out for a real run and ponder the dream more fully once she was out and moving. She would also have to apologize to her mother when she woke up. Honestly, what had gotten into her last night?

* * *

Year after year, Hermione's parents did not understand their only child. When she was four she could recite the entire table of the elements. She knew most of the greatest philosophers by the time she was four and a half, and referred to them by their first names, as though they were her playmates. At five, she had made her first friend, stating simply that Rosa was annoyingly ignorant, but a necessary distraction in her day-to-day tedium. By six she had become slightly better adjusted, but would spend hours lying on her stomach reading whatever she could get her hands on. Seven was difficult – being put in a normal school despite her extraordinary brain power was very frustrating for Hermione. She had 'acted out' by tripping her teacher, even though she vehemently denied it stating that she was on the other end of the room.

Sleepovers with Rosa and the threat of her booklist being censored helped Hermione to get through her rather oppositional eighth year, while at nine she had finally realized that her parents did indeed have her best interests at heart, even if they were not always as well-informed as she hoped them to be. At ten, Hermione's self-awareness had increased dramatically, and she had scrambled desperately to remake her image into something that was studious – but not nerdy. This mostly meant bringing only four books to school in her backpack instead of ten.

Eleven was the fateful year that the Hogwarts letter had come, crisp and official. Hermione had already been accepted to Cromwell Girls High along with her still best friend Rosa. The Granger family was seated around the dining-room table eating tuna surprise when an owl had dramatically swooped in and changed their lives forever. It had all gone downhill from there. Finally having a place where she truly belonged seemed to give Hermione newfound self-confidence, and her letters home had become more distant as the months passed. Her fallout with Rosa made her reluctant to visit home after her first Christmas.

Although Hermione's parents were glad that she had made friends at Hogwarts, they did notice that she didn't have any female friends. Since it didn't seem to be affecting her that much, they didn't speak to her about it. However when by fifteen she had neither had a boyfriend nor expressed a passing interest in a boy, they had a discussion about it the night before she was due to arrive home.

"I just wonder whether it's normal, dear," Emma said worriedly, searching her husband's eyes to see if he had the answers.

"Ah my love, that is your exact mistake," he replied, patting her on the shoulder. "When has our Hermione ever been normal or conventional in any way?" Emma shrugged off his hand and glared at him. "You suspect something, don't you?" she accused. "Tell me."

"Well, for a while now I've thought… well it's a bit ridiculous, but I think that Hermione might be gay." Daniel pushed the whole sentence out all in one go. Emma pondered it for a while, and then shrugged.

"There are worse things she could be," Hermione's mother said reasonably. "And if there's anybody who needs to be accepting of her, it's us." And so they supported Hermione when she finally confessed her sexuality to them later that summer and even suggested that she look up the laws and customs of the Magical world on lesbianism.

As it turned out, the Ministry of magic had written out a decree of acceptance of Lesbian and Gay marriage way back in 1762 when Mildred Morag and Helen MacDougal (whose father was the Minister of Magic at the time) pronounced their undying love for one another. Since then thousands of witches had wed witches, and wizards had wed wizards. Magic made almost anything possible, they discovered, including artificial insemination (without help of a male donor) and male pregnancy. It was for this reason that it was not only considered exceedingly normal to be gay – but almost fashionable.

Hermione didn't feel as apprehensive about people discovering her secret after that, but she still didn't feel comfortable telling anyone just yet. Teenagers could be especially vicious, and she did live in a school full of them. She hadn't even told Harry and Ron yet, who had sort of changed roles from bodyguards to actual friends over the years. The whole mess with Viktor taking her to the Yule ball in fourth year had distracted them for a while, and at the end of fifth year when Luna had quietly asked if she was seeing anyone, Hermione knew that it was time.

She told them while visiting Ron's house in the summer before sixth year, informing them that she had known for some time now, and that she would appreciate their civility and understanding. Harry and Ron looked at each other, then back at her, and burst into laughter. Offended at first, Hermione did not understand what was so very funny about her situation.

"It's just that," Harry paused in his laughter, giggling a little as he breathed deeply to calm himself down. "Well, we've known since… Ron, when did we know?"

"I think since third year. Not to be stereotypical or anything, but it was kind of obvious because you hang out with us a lot, never talk about boys, and you do dress kind of boyishly," Ron said matter-of-factly.

"Oh," Hermione muttered. "Well, why didn't you say anything, then? If I was so obvious, why didn't you tell me that you knew?"

"Hermione," said Ron cheerfully, wrapping his arm around her shoulder. Harry moved to her other side and did the same. "We knew you would tell us when you were ready."

Hermione sighed. The boys were obviously more perceptive than she gave them credit for – but that was okay. She was just glad that they weren't freaking out.


	2. Chapter 2

I solemnly swear that I will complete this story. And that I am up to no good…

* * *

The war had been over for a month now, and though Hermione, Harry and Ron had come out of it relatively unscathed, the dynamics of wizard society had completely changed. Law and order was slowly being restored – just like the ancient walls of their Alma mater. With the new school term due to start in a few months, Hermione had some tough decisions to make. She had realized that her passion lay in teaching, and her Newts, taken at the ministry of magic a week prior, would hopefully help her to achieve her goal.

Her results were due to arrive any minute now, and to say that she was nervous would have been the understatement of the century. Grimmauld Place's library was her current refuge. She clutched a well-worn copy of _Hogwarts, A History _and pretended to leaf through the section on competing schools while pacing the well-worn green carpet. Harry and Ron were nervous too, but they sat calmly on the other end of the library devouring an assortment of baked goods prepared by Kreacher, who was delighted to have people to take care of again.

A noise at the wide open window made them jump, and they all made a mad dash for the three tawny owls perched on the sill. Hermione held her envelope with trembling hands while the boys ripped theirs open. Two simultaneous whoops of joy from the boys encouraged her somewhat, and she opened hers slowly. She gasped. All O's – not a single Exceeds Expectations or any other symbol; Hermione looked over at the boys only to see them smiling back at her cautiously.

"Well?" said Ron impatiently, gesturing for her to hand him her letter. She did so, and heard a shocked whistle of breath as he exhaled. "Holy Hell, Hermione… Wow, just… wow." Harry looked over Ron's shoulder.

"Huh," he said, shrugging. "I could have told you that."

* * *

Hermione received several invitations to teach after her results were published in the Daily Prophet alongside several other Hogwarts alumni. She began to feel pressure to choose one of the schools, but she had no idea which school would suite her better. Hogwarts was great – but they were offering her a potions apprenticeship. She was good at potions, she knew, but she would never have the finesse and passion that Professor Snape had yearned to instill in his students. Her favorite subject was Charms, and she had received offers from three schools offering Charms apprenticeships. Beauxbatons, Salem Witches Academy, and the African People's Academy of Magic, had all sent letters as soon as her results became public.

In the end, her choice was simple. She wanted to travel – see the world. The further she could get away from home, the better – so a month later she was ready to leave for the African People's Academy of Magic. She had a vague idea of where it was situated, but though she was no slouch at geography, she could not pinpoint its exact location. All the clues pointed to South Africa – a country about which she knew little, except for the horrifying practice of apartheid, which was thankfully a thing of the past.

Harry and Ron helped her pack and shrink all of her things into her beaded bag, which she still carried everywhere with her – just in case. The boys organized a surprise going-away party for her at the Burrow the day before she was due to leave, and most of the former Gryffindors were in attendance. Even though she surrounded by friends and people she loved, she still couldn't wait to leave.

In the morning, Harry and Ron escorted her to the international portkey station in the Ministry of Magic and stood with her while she waited to be transported across the globe. Hermione was dressed to impress, in emerald green robes with beaded trim at the hem line. Five minutes before she was due to leave, Harry and Ron said goodbye, and left reluctantly to be at job interviews for the Auror department. Hermione sat down on a bench designated as her departure point. Two minutes later, a tall brunette woman wearing sunglasses and stylish navy blue robes approached her, holding an old toothbrush in her hand.

"Is this the departure point for South Africa?" the woman inquired, sitting down next to her cautiously. She had a British accent, but Hermione did not immediately recognize her.

"Yes, is that my portkey?" Hermione looked over the woman, who seemed to be her age.

"Our portkey, actually," she said, removing her sunglasses and meeting Hermione's gaze evenly. Suddenly, Hermione recognized her as Pansy Parkinson – but she had changed considerably from the Pansy that Hermione remembered from sixth year. She had the same wide mouth and grey eyes, but a horrible scar ran from the bridge of her nose across her right cheek, marring her once flawless features. Hermione didn't stare, but she wondered how Pansy had gotten such a scar.

"Oh," said Hermione cautiously, and then asked: "Are you going to the Academy?" Pansy nodded, and held out the tooth brush for Hermione to grasp. As they held onto the unlikely object, both women thought that the following year ought to be very interesting indeed. Without warning, the familiar and unpleasant feeling of a hook behind their navels pulled them both out of sight in London, and back into existence in a smaller international portkey station halfway across the globe.

* * *

Neither of them knew where to go next, but that problem was solved when a tall dark-skinned woman approached them. She was wearing witches robes in bright,multicolored material draped attractively around her shoulders. "Sawubona!" she said excitedly, and then switched to flat-accented South African English. "Are you the lovely ladies from England?" Hermione and Pansy nodded, greeting her politely.

"My name is Princess Ndlovu, and I am the Potions mistress at the African People's Academy of Magic," she said proudly, as she shook each of their hands in turn.

"Wow," said Pansy, "I wasn't aware that South Africa has a monarchy."

The South African laughed easily, leading them down a staircase and into the elaborately decorated lobby. "No, we do not. My _name_ is Princess, although _I_ am not a princess. It is a common name here," she smiled at them, and seeing the embarrassment on Pansy's face, reassured her that it was an easy mistake for a foreigner to make.

Princess led them to a wide archway set into the wall of the lobby, her heels clacking smartly against the beige tiles. She stopped and turned to face Pansy and Hermione, her smiling face glowing with excitement. "We just had this installed last week – and I haven't had a chance to try it yet," she whispered excitedly.

"What is it?" asked Hermione, eying the runes inscribed on the edge of the arch. She recognized several pertaining to transport, distance, and learning.

"It is similar to a portkey. It uses runic magic to take us directly to the Academy," she said, pulling three beaded bracelets out of her pocket. As she handed one each to Hermione and Pansy, the tiny ceramic beads glowed blue. "Put them on your wrists, and then we will walk through the arch."

Hermione and Pansy did as she asked, and they glanced at the other briefly. Pansy was obviously not too happy about being a guinea-pig, and Hermione was harboring the same doubts. "Don't look so worried, ladies," Princess said as she turned toward the archway, beyond which a faint glimmer of light could be seen, as though at the end of a long tunnel. "This system has been extensively tested. After all, why on Earth would we want to lose our two newest staff members directly after they have been hired?" That being said, she stepped through the archway, and disappeared in a flash of blue light.

Hermione and Pansy looked at each other.

"Go ahead," said Pansy.

"Sure," said Hermione, giggling a little bit. "Typical Slytherin scaredy-cat."

"Hey! I resent that," said Pansy. "Anyway, there's nothing wrong with self-preservation. Nobody ever survived without it."

"True," said Hermione, as she stepped forward. She glanced back over her shoulder; a strand of her unruly hair came free of her ponytail and hung in front of her eyes. She raised her eyebrows. "But with it, nobody ever had any fun." She took a giant step forward, through the archway.

Pansy didn't panic, but she certainly felt distressed at the loss of Hermione's familiar, albeit annoying presence. Sucking in a huge gulp of air, she too stepped forward into the darkness.


End file.
